American Shithole #7 — Besties
Today however, I feel compelled to shut the front door on all the chaos of our political hell-scape, and instead write a short article about friends. Best friends, really. Not the particulars about my best friend — we shall call him, Peter — but the bonus points in life you generally receive if you’ve been lucky enough to have developed a close friendship along your way.
By morning, he had decided he needed somewhere nobody cared about theater, someplace where the name Chekhov was more likely to be mistaken for a rifle than a playwright.